


Crawl Home To Her

by Foxgrrl42



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Logan (2017) Spoilers, Mentions of Sabertooth, Mentions of X-Men - Freeform, Mentions of Yukio - Freeform, mentions of charles xavier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxgrrl42/pseuds/Foxgrrl42
Summary: Hear my soul speak.Of the very first instant I saw you,did my heart fly at your service.-William Shakespeare***There’s something disturbingly familiar about the roundness of her dark eyes. The way her eyebrows arch as she critically peers at him from beneath them. Almost as if she’s sizing him up. Challenging him.He doesn’t like it.





	1. Sight, Scent

 

___ All I can see is one part of a person’s life, their death. And I saw yours.  _

_So, what do you see?_  

***

 

Logan pulls up in the parking lot of the Motel and slams the door of the car. It’s quite dark out now and the neon lights of the Motel sign flicker in the blackness.

He gets a weird vibe from this place.

Instinctively the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as he cautiously sniffs the air. It smells of dust, unwashed laundry and the desert, but he can’t quite pinpoint specific scents. There was a time when he could’ve ascertained exactly what type of fuzzy pet was residing in the check in lobby or whether or not the occupant of the motel room closest to him had showered recently. Sometimes he forgets that his sense of smell isn’t what it used to be.

That’s when he sees her.

She’s just a little girl, no more than than ten or eleven. Standing in the parking lot she bounces a fist sized ball on the asphalt. As he walks she tracks him with her gaze. There’s something disturbingly familiar about the roundness of her dark eyes. The way her eyebrows arch as she critically peers at him from beneath them. Almost as if she’s sizing him up. Challenging him.

He doesn’t like it.  


	2. Blood

The second the claws come out he knows she’s meant for him. As the girl, Laura is her name, slowly approaches the Reavers with an insatiable blood lust in her eyes Logan knows -oh he’s  _ certain _ \- those fuckers are dead where they stand. 


	3. Breath

With Laura still asleep in the backseat and phone fully charged, Logan takes the opportunity to finish watching Gabriella’s message. What he sees isn’t pretty. As he observes the doctors in the video surround an unconscious Laura a primal rage grows inside him.

Anger is an emotion Logan is familiar with, probably more so than anything else on this earth. It greets him like an old friend. His temper a coat, one that he’s worn so many times that it feels like a second skin. Sometimes the rage is aimless, but what he feels at the moment has direction.

A purpose.

The spaces between his knuckles itch to let loose his claws. More than anything he wants to feel wet warm blood meet his fist as he sinks the deadly adamantium into one of the doctor’s chests. He didn’t care for how they poked and prodded Laura; how they scrutinized her like she was a bug under a microscope; how they handled her like a goddamned object.

Fuckers.

Laura, a wild animal trapped in a cage with nothing to unleash her fury upon turned on herself. He watches as Laura used her own claws on her wrist. The blood drips and the wounds close up faster than she made them.

She knows what she is. What she was created to be and she resents it.

He could emphasize with that. Hell, if anyone could it was _him._ While Logan’s memory may not be organized he remembers what it’s like to be unmade.

Gabriella turned the camera towards herself to finish her monologue as Laura slept soundly in the background of the video.

“She’s not my daughter, but I love her” she said. “You might not love her, but she’s your daughter.”

He thinks back to Laura ripping the Reavers apart the other day. How she didn’t even bother wiping the pus from her knuckles long after the claws went away.

Yep, she was his daughter alright.

He turns to Laura who’s curled up in the back seat and breathing quietly in rhythm. As she makes a soft noise in her slumber he feels something close to affection. For a moment.

What a wonder that someone so little and frail looking could massacre a dozen men without hesitation. Logan wonders if anyone thought the same thing about him when he was that small.

_You might not love her, but she’s your daughter._

Memories of all the people Logan has ever loved appear. Most of them are dead, spare for Charles who’s dying. Oddly enough that’s one of the few things he and Logan have in common these days. The names float to the surface of his broken mind: Hank, Rogue, Bobby, Ororo, Mariko, Jean…

Oh god, _Jean._

He doesn’t want to think about Jean. Bad shit always happens to the people he cares about. In Jean’s case,  _he_ was the bad shit.

He pulls his gaze away from Laura and stares straight ahead.

Does he love her?

Does he _dare_?

No. He fucking hopes not.


	4. Kin

He’s fairly certain he had a brother once, however he can’t fully recall. 

With the overlapping timelines and memory wipes along with all the bullshit Weapon X crammed into his head, Logan’s memory isn’t the most reliable source. Everything after his return from 1973 is solid, but a lot of what’s prior is all jumbled together in an inconsistent mess. 

There are days when Logan remembers his brother’s face, his name and a bunch of random little details about him, like how he liked his coffee or what he was afraid of as a kid, etc. Other days, like this one, all he gets is a menacing flash of white teeth or the scent of cheap whiskey. 

He knows this isn't what Charles meant with his talk of family.

Most of what he associates with his supposed sibling, the elements that never elude him, aren't actual memories, but feelings. An air of odium had settled on the back his brother’s memory that makes Logan’s blood simmer for reasons that are unbenounced to him. While his brother may have been kin, he wasn’t family. At least not in the way that mattered. That much he knows.  


	5. Touch

He’s surprised to find Laura crawling into his bed and wrapping her skinny little arms around him. If everything goes according to plan this’ll be the last time they ever see or hear from one another again. 

His last night with his daughter. 

Instead of pushing her off or telling her to leave he surprises himself by scooting over and making more room for her on the tiny bed. She buries her face deeper between his shoulder blades and into the fabric of his shirt. A sort of warmth builds in Logan’s chest, _ her _ warmth. He curls his calloused fingers around Laura’s little hand resting on the edge his ribcage. 

He wonders if this is what it feels like. 

An unlikely memory crawls out of the cracks in the foundation that makes him smirk. A woman with impossibly bright red hair and tears welling up her eyes spoke to him, in another time, in another reality. She told him his death. 

_ I see you on your back, there’s blood everywhere. You’re holding your own heart in your hand.  _

Yukio’s prediction was wrong once again. For he did not die that night in Japan and he hasn’t in this one either. Logan closes his eyes, allowing sleep to take him with open arms.

All while holding his own heart in his hand. 


	6. Sleep

That night for the first time in months, years maybe, Logan doesn’t have a nightmare. 

Instead he dreams of a forest. 

The rich scent of pine needles permeates the chilled damp air and those tall wooden giants loom overhead. They silently accept him into their company and he finds them reminiscent of the trees of his youth, but Logan doesn’t feel youthful. In fact he feels ancient. 

As he makes his way through the thick meandering fog his bones creak and his pace is slow. However the throbbing ache that cursed his chest for the past week has subsided. While he may feel aged there’s no pain. 

For once in his life Logan thinks he feels as old as his years and for whatever reason he takes comfort in this fact. He can feel the weight of each day on his shoulders and considers sitting and counting them, but he has a destination in mind and fears if he stops now there’ll be no getting up again. He keeps walking. 

After some time, he reaches what he supposes he’s been looking for or at least  _ something  _ that’ll do. It’s a tree, much thicker than the others. Elderly, yet strong. Sturdy. Logan carefully lowers himself to the ground to sit against the elder tree and lets out a sigh of relief when he finally gets to rest his tired limbs. 

Then, he begins to wait. For what he’s not sure, but he’s not impatient. However long it takes he’ll find out eventually. There’s no reason to rush. 

It’s quiet here. 

He listens for the sound of bird song or squirrel chatter, but there isn’t any to be heard. Here he’s completely alone spare for the trees. A feeling of peace and contentment washes over him, and he thinks he wouldn’t mind staying there for an eternity, sitting and letting the time pass, allowing the moss and grass grow over him until he’s part of the soil. 

Yes, he’d like that. 

He waits for so long that he begins to believe that his wish will come to pass without disturbance. 

That’s when he sees her. 

A small silhouette in the mist approaching him. Before her face even comes into view Logan knows who she is. How could he not? She calls out his name. The one he never knew he had. 

_ “Papá.” _

That morning he awakens knowing what he must do. 


End file.
